get in here." he said quietly; And they did.
As the taxi took off Angel didn't even try to figure out the direction, they were taking; he knew that the involved loops and spins would hopelessly confuse him. He faced Gaussman quizzically. "This must be something awfully big," he said. "I mean using high-grade extra-terrestrial engineers for muscle-men on a simple pick-up job. Unless I guess wrong this is concerned with some pretty high finance."
The taller man took out his blaster again. "Don't try anything this time," he said thickly. "And don't get nosey before you're supposed to. You can get hurt doing that."
"Yeah?" asked the Angel, mildly eyeing him, "That struck home? Okay, pal." He turned again to Gaussman. "You must have been in this for several years, whatever it is," he said.
"That's right. My last job in the open was for Pluto Colony Corporation. I handled their mining in full." He glanced at his watch. "We're here," he said. As he spoke the muffled hum of the plane stopped abruptly and Angel felt it being swung about by a ground crew or turntable. He grinned.
"As I figure it," he said, "we've corne about seventy-three miles due East after swinging around four times to throw my sense of direction off the track. I think we're in the heart of the New York financial district, on about the twentieth floor of a very high building."
"I'll be damned!" exclaimed Gaussman, open-mouthed. "How did you do that?"
"Long years of training at the hands of my late beloved father, rest his martinet soul," said Angel. "You behold the only practical, authentic superman. No short cuts, no royal road—just hard work and development of everything I was born with. Let's go." He gestured at the door, which had opened to reveal a dim, luxurious corridor.
"Okay," said the taller man. "Hand over your gun." Maclure obeyed, smiling. "When I pass in front of the metal-detector," he said, "remember the eyelets in my shoes. They're a beryllium alloy."
"That's all right," said Gaussman. "We use an X-ray."
"Oh," said Angel shortly. "Then I might as well tell you now that. I have a saw in my shoe and a gascapsule in my zipper." He produced them and handed them over as he got out of the taxi.
"Thanks," said Gaussman. He pointed. "Through that door, Angel, You go in alone."
As the door—heavy as a bank-vault's—closed
ponderously behind
him, Maclure instinctively recoiled
at the terribly moist heat of
the room he was in. In the dim red
glow that came from the ceiling he
could see little curls of steam in the
aim His clothes were sopping wet.
Absently he wiped his face with a
soaked handkerchief.
A voice rang through the air—a thin, feeble whisper, magnified over a PA system. Normally it would be so faint that one could not even strain to hear it. It was the voice of an old man—a man so terribly old that intelligible speech was almost lost to him. It said: "Sit—there, Angel Maclure." A boxy chair glowed for a moment, and the young man sat. He was facing a soft sort of wall, which was red beneath the ceiling lights—a dull, bloody dried red. It slid aside slowly and in absolute silence.
